Last Tour of This Trip

When the alarm went off at 7:15 this morning, this tour thing did not sound as appealing as it did yesterday. Because of the multi-male bathrooms, we are able to get all bathing needs done simultaneously. Ron is always quicker with his glasses than I am with my contacts, so he was up in the kitchen fixing breakfast by the time I was ready.

The shuttle bus was prompt at 8:40 like they told us. It held 22 persons and we were told it would be full. Still, the seating was comfortable for a day's adventure. The day started out hot and continued to get warmer as the day went on. The shuttle was cool, but not well enough to battle the heat.

The driver/guide was a great commentator, starting as soon as we had collected everyone, pointing out different things along the way. I kept saying, remember this, remember that, but after the second winery, it was all down hill from there.

How many people can say they have seen the World's Largest Rocking Horse, or even care to admit they did? This was our first stop after a colorful history of Adelaide and North Adelaide, a separate city. There is a toy manufacturing company that is really out in the boonies. Having difficulty drawing crowds, they followed the example of other businesses that constructed giant things to attract attention. So along with a giant lobster at some restaurant that we did not visit, they had this rocking horse constructed of cement and steel. Since 911, the insurance for letting people climb to the top was so expensive, it put the company out of business. The people who bought the business started charging people $2.00 to climb up to the top to help defray the costs of insurance.

Along side of the toy company, but also owned by them is an animal sanctuary, where they keep birds that have been hurt, kangaroos, wallabies, peacocks, and some type of geese. As you walk through the toy store to get to the gates of the animal kingdom, there are bags of sawdust for sale, but labeled “genuine rocking horse manure”. Getting into the petting zoo is free.

They had some gorgeous birds, but we were warned as much as they like to be petted, they also like to bite finger off. Further in, there was a peacock strutting around, but partially molting. He came right up to us. Behind him was a peahen with chicks. Neither of us had ever seen peacock chicks before. The gray geese with yellow markings came up to us too, until they realized our hands were empty. Then we were shunned as cheap pariahs who would not spring for the $2.00 bag of food.

Three kangaroos were huddled together, one was lying on the ground. When I was busy scratching the one eating, she totally ignored my advances, but the one lying down burst into the air, looked totally startled and then hopped away. We both thought this was hysterical behavior, but then realized he had just made a major poop, missing my sandaled foot by an inch. He was on the run.

Back on the bus, the driver sent around a list of the seven entrées we had available to choose from and then making it more difficult, there were four different desserts. When we made our first wine stop, he called it in.

Our first winery stop was the Wolf Blass Winery, started by a German man who immigrated with a degree in oenology already in hand as well as years of experience. When he arrived here, they were only creating three types of wine and would not take his ideas seriously. He settled into creating the wines they wanted for years, but then took his VW Beetle and drove around the country offering his expertise as a consultant. Finally, he returned to this area, bought some land and started his own winery making wine his way. After winning a number of international wine awards three and four years in a row, people here started to take notice. The visitors center is modern with a entry sculpture of eagle wings that weighs fifty tons. In the center of the courtyard is another eagle statue. The land was originally named something with eagle in the Aboriginal language and the flag of Germany has an eagle on it.

Here we tasted seven wines. Since I am not much of a wine drinker, I taste and then spill the rest. Not today, however. I was threatened that if I were tempted to spill the rest into the bucket provided, I would be harmed if I did not spill it into Ron's glass instead. Just out of spite, I drank them all, whether I cared for them or not and generally, it was a not.

Our lunch was the next stop at a town called Nuriootpa, a German settlement and there we ate at the Vine Inn. Due to the size of our group, we were allocated three tables. Each table was given a plate of German appetizers, pickles, sauerkraut, and smoked meats sliced. We had access to a large salad bar, but once they started bringing out the lunches, most of us avoided the salad bar. I had chosen chicken parmigiana, which was a huge portion, served on a bed of French fries, or chips as they call them. There was no way I could do this justice and partake of the salad bar too. When I was finished, bursting was my main concern, so I went for a quick walk around the building. At my setting when I returned was my dessert, cheesecake with blueberries. It was not the solid NY type cheesecake, but rather a creamy fluffier type, so I was able to shovel it in, but not without reservations of popping my belly button. Ron had a fish called barramundi, a local fish. His portion was as large as mine. We were having a chat with the others at the table. I mentioned that I was disappointed in that we did not see any kangaroos on Kangaroo Island. One of the men turned to me and said, “Well, you better avoid the Virgin Islands in that case.” Though it is an old joke, it struck me funny, considering he was Australian.

As we waddled back to the bus, we made our way to the Vinecrest Winery. This was a boutique winery run by the 5^th generation of wine makers, located in the Barossa Valley. Our driver had warned us that the first winery after lunch was difficult and he was right on the money with that statement. Here they offered six samples. I settled for four, before calling Uncle and quitting. When liquor is concerned, I am a cheap date.

With not enough time to stop for photos, we did quickly stop at the Menglers Hill Lookout, which has a wonderful panorama over the entire Barossa Valley. Onward, we went to the Barossa Vines Winery, another boutique winery offering us six samples of their offerings. When we left here, our guide was telling us that they were closing the tasting center since they have another winery also. The financial crisis that has impacted the world has really hit the wine industry severely, so many are trying to cut costs wherever possible.

South Australia, of which Adelaide is the capital, is the driest state in Australia. They are on severe water rationing, since they have been under the needed rainfall for nine years. They had been using water from the Charles River, until it was found that the other states who were using it also has created a danger to the river, but lowering it to the point of harming the entire eco-system.

The last stop was the Kies Family Winery. They offered six different tastings, but by this point, I threw in the towel completely. They had a coffee shop, so I sprung for a coffee and aspirin instead. Ron, the trooper that he is did not want any winery to feel under appreciated, so he soldiered onward.

Finally, we had one stop left, but not another winery. It was the whispering wall. What it actually is is a dam that at one point in time was the largest dam in the world, but no longer. Due to its construction, if you stand on one end and speak in a normal voice, a person 140 meters away can hear you like you are standing next to them. Ron stood on the one side, while I walked to the other. While others were in line ahead of me, I could hear the people speaking to them as clear as a bell. When I spoke to Ron, I did not get an answer. Trying a second time, there still were no results. I thought it figured since he never answers his mobile phone at home either.

One thing that the guide did tell us about that I do remember is that they have a Oban bus track here. It is the only one in the world, outside of Germany. A specially equipped bus can drive the city streets, but when it gets to this specific track, a special part comes down from the wheel and the bus is driven automatically without the assistance of the driver. We would like to try this tomorrow.

The Tour Down Under, a major cycling event is having its pre-event tonight. Lance Armstrong is here to make his comeback debut. Cycle clubs from all over the world are here to compete. It seems that this was Adelaide's dream ten years ago to increase tourism. They worked out with the cycle clubs in Europe to host this event, which is a win-win. The weather here is warm to hot this time of year, it gives the cyclists the training in a competition they need before the European season starts, and the city gets flooded with tourists. They expect 500,000 tourists alone for this event.

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Round and Round in Cyclos

Breakfast, included at the hotel, was a satisfying omelet, bacon, and a baguette. Baguettes in Vietnam have centers like spider webs. You can see there is something in there, but when you try to pull it out, the consistency is like cotton candy. If you wad it up, you have a teardrops worth of substance in your hand. The coffee is atrocious making me need to seek out better flavored caffeine elsewhere. Ron read in the guide (not Frommer’s mind you) about a place called Baguette and Chocolate, but after twenty minutes of walking up and down the street where it was listed as being, a young man came up to us to see if we needed assistance. The café had moved over a year ago. We found another reasonable looking coffee shop where real coffee was served. We sat in the window seat.

Outside the window and across the street was a young cyclo driver, the bicycle kind of transport. The young man waved to us and motioned he would take us around the city. We smiled and tried to ignore him. It was not on the agenda. Finally, he found a willing fare and left us. Before we left the café there was a replacement who offered an hour tour of the city for $8.00 for both of us. We decided to take him up on it, but cyclos are built for two Vietnamese, not two of any non-Asian body types. By contorting like we were playing a game of Twister, with one leg on the red dot and the other leg on the blue dot, we intertwined into the seat and off we went. Our driver started out with the first question they learn in all English lessons throughout the country. “Where are you from?” They could care less about the answer since they never respond to the answer. Case in point, we told him we just arrived from Pluto and he did not stop short and kick us out of our seats. The next question also follows the formula, but still throws me. “How old are you?” Again there was no reaction when I said twenty-five and Ron admitted to one hundred and one. Skipping over formalities, the next inquiry is “How many children you have?” Our cumulative total of forty-six did not stir a reaction.

Riding in one of these cyclos is very similar to the ride in the House of Horrors. You are riding along, and then suddenly you think you are going to smash into something and the car turns suddenly at the very last moment, causing your heart to beat as fast as tribal drums warning of impending danger. If I had started dying my hair again, I would have been white once again by the end of the ride. Someone should discuss implementing more traffic lights here, but the three that they do have go unnoticed by all anyway, so the lack of them must be to conserve electricity.

If someone could create a mechanism making car and motorcycle horns bleat every ten seconds while the motor is running, it would allow all drivers to concentrate on steering, freeing them from having to count to ten to hit the horn manually. Noise never stops and neither does the traffic. Adding to the suspense of our survival, the driver kept bending over to tell us things along the way. First he pointed out the Military Museum explaining in poor English what it was, and then said “You know, boom, boom!” About five minutes later, he was massaging my neck and told me he knew where we could get a good massage and some ‘boom, boom’. We are not sure if the Military Museum is displaying sexual exhibits or if the massage therapists have guns, but we thought it wise to refuse both.

The tour was especially delightful when we went around the lake; miraculously the traffic was reduced in the lake area, so we could actually speak to each other without shouting. The placid moment did not last long as we entered the real word soon enough. The clock had run over one hour and we were on the opposite side of the city; we thought of getting out and walking back, but with crossing streets it would have taken at least an hour and years off of our lives. When we were finally able to untangle ourselves in an area that held some familiarity, it was a two hour ride. Suddenly the cost of our indulgence went from $8.00 to $22.00. Okay, it was worth the money. He needed it more than we did, but still I hate being made the fool. Seriously, could have stopped him at one hour; we discussed the added costs and let him continue uninterrupted.

As we rode around, we noticed that the shops run in waves. Two blocks will all sell motorcycle seat covers, and then the next two blocks will all be pots and pans. Shoe stores cover the next few blocks. They all segregate according to their offering like they fear keeping the competition out of sight. Astonishingly, they do wear more shoes here than they did in the other cities, where flip-flops or other styles of sandals are worn. When it first caught my attention, I could barely count ten people wearing shoes, but here the statistics are just the opposite.

The other key difference here in Hanoi is that restaurants, shops, even the cyclo drivers crave U.S. dollars over their own Dong. In the other cities, we could not convince people to take dollars; we had to have Dong on hand. When we run out of dollars, we will have to plead vendors to accept their own currency.

Later when we were walking around, one of the women who looks like they are carrying the scales of justice, but are really carrying fruits or vegetables for sale, stopped me to buy fresh cut pineapple. With the opportunity to pamper ourselves with fresh fruits, it seemed reasonable to spend $1.00 on a pineapple already peeled and cut. She said to me, “Take my picture.” I indulged her by snapping her with her bracing and balancing her heavy load. Ron snapped a couple too. When I said thanks, she said “Okay, 50,000 Dong for the photos.” After a good laugh, I thanked her again saying not in this lifetime because other than a ‘NO’ she would not understand anything I replied with.

We wound up buying a nice carry-on type bag that has concealed wheels and a handle for $20.00. Tomorrow it will take it maiden voyage to the Halong Bay excursion. Another Hmong elephant made its way into our life also. There would have been a second Hmong dragon too, but could not find a blue one in the right size. Now that we each have a carry-on bag, might as well make good use of it.

Walking around the lake one more time, we walked a bridge to reach a small island. On it is a pagoda called “Where the Turtle Returned the Sword” based on a legend. There is a temple there where the deity looks like Confucius, but the explanation discusses a General in the Armed Forces from the 15^t century. People were obviously in prayer at the base of his statue.

Restaurants here are definitely more upscale than in Chau Doc and Ho Chi Minh City, implying the costs are higher, but they are more affluent in their décor also. Due to these, the people selling gum, books, water, cigarette lighters, and horses with bobbing heads are not likely to enter and give their spiel while diners are in the process of mastication.

One funny sign we have commonly seen restaurant bathrooms states “Do not stand on the toilet”. It is common in less touristy areas to have squat holes in the floor that you stand over. The country folk must not recognize the use of a toilet trying to stand and squat on them.

We went to a French/Vietnamese restaurant tonight called Le Cyclo. Each of the chairs were cyclos around a table. Different and interesting, it was one of the most expensive meals we have encountered on our entire trip. Ron had the duck and I had chicken over fried Vietnamese noodles. With two beers, the bill came to a shocking $16.20.

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Road Rage or Going Postal

Today we left for Hanoi. Our hotel arranged a driver for $8.00 to bring us to the airport. They told us it would only take thirty minutes, but we figured we would need an hour to get there; it was the right thing to do. Traffic was horrendous.

Being second in line to check in with the airline, low budget Pacific Air, it was our turn next. I handed the agent our passports, all it took for her to find our reservations. With baited breath, we put our suitcases on the scale with as much horrendous anticipation I always have when having to climb the scale at the doctor’s office. No sirens went off, no alarms or red flags contaminated the air, we passed with flying colors on the weight issue. Guess this means we can shop more. So, the agent is typing away getting our boarding passes, Ron is standing behind me and there was another non-Asian soon-to-be passenger behind us. To my right, a young Vietnamese man is holding a paper and I.D. card under the nose of the agent shoving it at her. Applaudingly, she totally ignored him and continued working away. I could not stand it and said loudly “Doesn’t he see me standing here? Doesn’t he see the man waiting behind us?” There is no telling if he understood English or even if he cared if he did, but it was something to get off of my chest or it would have simmered coming to a boil at some inappropriate time. After all, at 5:30 am, I was awake and could not sleep yet again, so being tired and cranky were as good excuses as any to speak my mind. Needless to say, it had no effect, when we were done the clerk took care of this annoying person who learned these behaviors were appropriate. My bad or his!

This was really preparation for the rest of the trip. Our flight was delayed for forty minutes due to the plane arriving late from the last pit stop. When we started boarding, they asked for all those whose seat rows were 1-50 enter the plane from the front. For those 51 and higher enter through the rear of the plane. Having been announced in Vietnamese and English, had no bearing on the pushing and shoving of the little people. I had visions of Gulliver’s Travels when he found himself in the land of the giants. We were the giants and these little people were scurrying through the line like mice escaping a ferocious cat. From tenth in line, we were suddenly fiftieth and all to climb on a bus.

Revenge is sweet. When we disembarked from the buses, all of the locals were like deer in the headlights, not knowing where to go. I was first to get on the stairs up to the plane, not that it mattered, but it made me feel avenged. Ron showed up ten minutes later. Many of these people must never have flown before. They sat in a seat, and then some non-Asian tourist would approach them and say they are sitting in their seat. The errant passenger would pop up and grab another empty seat like they were responding to a game of musical chairs hearing music stop that no one else heard. No one was playing their game either, a few of them were displaced multiple times.

It was not luxury, but it was fine, even if the seats were tight enough to scratch my kneecaps with my teeth. Regardless, I fell asleep. In the middle of a dream with some mythical animal, I was bending over to pet it when the animal made this unnatural screeching sound, not only waking me, but sending me skyrocketing out of my seat. After being fully awake, that sound came yet again. It emanated from a woman two seats behind me who was playing with a baby. Those sounds should be restricted from planes.

The man next to me, I think a Vietnamese, had his seat belt undone and was ready to get his luggage out of the overhead bin once they announced our descent. You can imagine what deplaning was like, again all to get on a bus. When we were waiting for our luggage, I was pushed, shoved, and bumped away from the luggage conveyor belt so many times, I thought I was going to have to use my Traveler’s Insurance before I left the airport.

Our hotel had a driver waiting for us. He explained it was only 32 km to the hotel, but it took us close to an hour to get there. Hanoi at first looks same, same, but different from Ho Chi Minh City. The hotel is lovely, but the room sits on the third floor without an elevator. Thankfully, they have a porter bring up the luggage or we would have needed an oxygen tank and massage therapist on each floor. The room is really cramped, with the most space going from the bed to the bathroom and useless. You have to scale the wall to get out of bed on one side. To get in the door, you have to walk sideways to get from the door to the end of the bed getting through the obstacles of the two chairs and refrigerator.

Ron is his enthusiastic mode ran downstairs, going down is easy, to check on a trip to Halong Bay and then reserved it to the tune of $125.00 each for a one overnight trip. Seriously, I thought I had taught him never to book through the hotel before checking the plethora of travel agencies, but this is the second time he has made this mistake this trip. It seems that the disaster with the trip in Cambodia would have reverberated in his mind, but nope.

Hanoi is as overloaded with traffic as all of the other cities. Being tired and beyond irritable, road rage was setting in even if I lacked a vehicle. The thoughts of jutting out my arm continually until I hit some motorcyclist kept running through my mind. Air pollution is only beat out by the noise pollution straining my nerves. Sidewalks are either occupied as intermittent restaurants with nursery school chairs or as a parking garage for motorcycles, forcing pedestrians to walk in the streets where they are human traffic cones.

Our friend Myrtis is considering a Fulbright here, but I cannot last three weeks between Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, let alone four to nine months. They would have to create words in Vietnamese for “going postal”.

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City Tour - Part Snore

This is not a pretty city. There are interesting parts, some well manicured small parks, and a few visual surprises, but very few. Today, we had a city tour planned so we would not miss something spectacular without realizing it, though our guidebook held no promises. We were to meet at the agency in the next alley at 7:50 am. We ran to a restaurant, told them we had a tour in twenty minutes and if they could not produce two omelets in five minutes, we were just having coffee. Miracles do happen and our perfect omelets with a French baguette heated perfectly were sitting in front of our faces with four minutes.

Arriving three minutes late at the tour office, we had to wait an additional twenty minutes for our tour van to pick us up. Being the first, we had to pick up three more couples and then we were off. The first amazing fact that we deciphered from our tour guide whose English was less than spectacular was that the population of Ho Chi Minh City is ten million. Holy population explosion, this city’s population is the same as the total population of Hungary. One cities population is the same as a whole country. If that were not enough to blow us away, the next statistic did it for sure. There are six million motorcycles in the city, because at one time the only type available was Honda for $7,000 a pop, but now you can get a Chinese made one for $300.00 new or $200.00 used. They need a special and different license to drive a motorcycle than a car and they are eligible from the age of seventeen years old. As of January 1^st, they have to wear helmets or be fined. This was one of the highlights of the tour, which does not fare well for the day. He told us that clients in the past have asked him if Vietnam has a large Muslim population since so many motorcyclists wear face masks. The masks are for the pollution, not a religious zealousness. The overwhelming majority of the country is Buddhist.

As pleasant as our tour guide was with his five year degree in Tourism and Travel, he admitted that languages did not make up much of the curriculum. With his burly accent mutilating the English language, it was a verbal-auditory puzzle for the rest of the day. One of our fellow travelers was a Vietnamese who escaped to the U.S with his family, when he was a baby. He was able to aid us with the really tough comments when asking our guide to repeat himself for the tenth time would be just downright rude.

Our first stop was one I could have skipped altogether. It was the memorial for the Vietnam War. There are six buildings. By the mid point of the first one, I was in tears. I was part of the draft, I was part of protesting, I remember the exact spot I was at when the Kent State shootings were announced. There is no way I could go through these buildings that held devastating pictures, scenes of torture, remembrances of all kinds that would make Hell look like an amusement park. The only building I made it through successfully was the one with the protest posters and photos from around the world trying to get the U.S. to leave Vietnam. There were many photos I remember seeing in LOOK, TIME, and NEWSWEEK. I was disheartened and had to wait out the time for the rest of the group to regroup.

Perfectly timed, the next stop was a Buddhist temple that dates back to the 1700s. A monk was performing a funeral service, what timing after the memorial. The grounds were being maintained by a number of monks who were busy at work repainting memorials of prior temple leaders, cutting the topiaries, and cleaning. This also happens to be a monastery.

When we stopped at the Chinese market, it looked innocent enough from the outside. Our guide told us how it is sectioned off to set us on our shopping adventure. We had no thoughts of dropping any money here, so he took us around himself. With aisles barely maneuverable, we passed the candy and dried fruit section, the shoes, the material, and off the rack clothes. All of the while, people are pushing and shoving to get by with either an urgent need to be some place else or with trays of food from the restaurant area going to the sales people on the floor. Even our guide admitted it is too hectic and swarming with people for him to come here other than with tours. He said it is like this seven days a week. Merchandise is piled so high and there are no obvious lines of demarcation from one vendor and the other, it is impossible to know how they can keep track or do inventory. Yet, all of the workers are unloading yet more cartons with more commodities and noting all of it, while counting stock on hand.

The tour included a light lunch back at the tour office. Strangely, the tour office is in the next alley from our hotel. They served rice, spring rolls, and a green vegetable, but for those of us who would not eat shrimp, were served tofu. They also brought out a soup that was so flavorless, none of us could determine what stock it once had.

A continuation of the day included the Imperial building, used by the President of Vietnam during the war. It has ninety-six rooms, but thankfully, we did not have to view all of them. It is still used today for some government functions and can also be rented for weddings and birthday parties. From here we went to the Catholic Cathedral renamed Notre Dame, but we arrived early. It closes for lunch so we walked across the street to the post office to kill time. The post office is the size of a generous train station. All services you could want are provided from posting your mail to buying souvenirs, making international phone calls, or buying a vending machine drink.

Being called a cathedral one would expect some pomp and flash, but this was a plain church with small grottoes dedicated to different saints. Strangely, the statues had halogen lights around them with electric halos. Our last stop was a lacquer making factory where we were able to see products go from raw wood through all of the processes needed to make it a finished product. The best part of this was that it was a workshop for the handicapped, so seeing a dozen wheelchairs parked to the side while people applied tiny bits of eggshells onto painted wood was a bright light.

This had ended our tour of Ho Chi Minh City. We hope you have enjoyed yourselves and if you have please remember the driver and I wish you a wonderful New Year. Ugh! I need a nap.

My Internet luck ran out. We went to the WiFi café, but they had an Internet blackout and could not get it fixed in the forty-five minutes we waited.

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